Chapter 13 - THE INTRUDERS IN THE WIRE
Through the darkness, the distant rhythmic crickets went abruptly silent along the southern perimeter fence.
Master Sergeant Miller immediately reached for the emergency landline mounted on the wall. She lifted the receiver to her ear, only to hear a dead, hollow hiss. "Lines are cut. Cell towers are jammed. What kind of gear do these people have?"
"Commercial military contractors operating under black-budget authorization," Claire answered without turning. She was stripping down a standard M4 carbine from the armory rack in the dark, her hands moving with blinding mechanical efficiency. "They use broad-spectrum radio frequency jammers and thermal optics. They don’t intend to capture either of us. Their standing order is total sanitation."
Miller grabbed her own combat vest from the corner, cinching the straps tight around her chest. "Sanitation? This is an active military reserve post! If they start shooting inside the fence—"
"They won’t use rifles," Claire interrupted, sliding the bolt carrier group back into the upper receiver with a sharp, metallic *clack*. "They use sub-sonic rounds with heavy tungsten cores. Suppressed. When morning comes, the post commander will find an electrical fire in the range control hut and two charred bodies. An accidental diesel explosion. Case closed."
Claire racked the charging handle and turned to Miller. "Do you have the master keys to the lower drainage tunnels beneath the firing line?"
"I do," Miller said, pulling a heavy brass ring from her pocket. "Why?"
"Because their thermal scopes can’t penetrate four feet of reinforced concrete and stagnant ground water. If we stay in this wooden building, we’re dead in ninety seconds. They’ve already deployed their perimeter shooters."
As if answering Claire’s words, a faint *thwack* struck the exterior wall of the office. A millimeter later, a tiny round penetrated the two-inch pine siding, passed precisely through the lampshade where Miller had been sitting moments earlier, and embedded itself in the drywall.
Miller hit the floor instinctively. "Sniper. South ridge."
"Correction," Claire said, pulling Miller downward by her collar. "Spotter on the south ridge. The shooter is on the water tower, eight hundred meters out. He’s compensating for the five-knot easterly breeze. Next round will be six inches lower."
Another muffled *thwack* blew through the wood, exactly six inches beneath the first puncture, showering them with splinters.
"Move!" Claire hissed.
The two women crawled through the narrow corridor leading to the armory's rear storage vault. Claire reached the reinforced steel hatch leading down into the subterranean inspection conduit, kicked the latch release, and threw the heavy lid open. A rush of cold, damp air smelling of rust and stagnant rain washed over them.
"Down! Now!" Claire commanded.
Miller dropped through the opening, sliding down the iron ladder into the darkness. Claire paused for half a second. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the paper target with the five-shot hole, and pinned it deliberately to the open doorway of the armory using a combat knife.
May you like
Then she descended into the depths, pulling the heavy steel hatch shut behind her just as three suppressed rifle rounds stitched across the steel plate with the sound of violent hail.
***
